


on the naming of crabs and other things

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Saint Seiya prompts & short fic [112]
Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drabble, Kid Fic, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fic, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: Names are a difficult thing sometimes. Especially when you're six and trying to name yourself. Comfort comes in strange ways, though, as newly-dubbed Mephisto meets his brand new soulmate, five-year-old Aphrodite.





	on the naming of crabs and other things

**Author's Note:**

> From a batch of prompts I did over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com). This was previously posted in a drabble collection 'Saint Seiya: Soulmates’, that I have chosen to take down and post individually for ease of access. The premise of all of these was that the first words the soulmates spoke to each other are written somewhere on their skin in the person's handwriting, with a unique color, never black. Black words indicate a dead soulmate. You can touch the words and they will give you feelings that indicate whether the soulmate is romantic or platonic.
> 
> Original author's note: I was challenged to make the words on one of them ‘you’re the sweetest person I ever met’. (Originally posted 9-22-2017)

Paolo is a really boring name, he’s decided. He’s always sort of hated it, as his mother’s attempt to “bless her albino child with an auspicious name”. As if having albinism was a disease, or his fault, or something. Sometimes he’s glad she died a year ago, even if he had been roughing it as a beggar and a pickpocket for a year. It wasn’t like living with his increasingly drug-addicted mother had been much better.

Master Dionisio, who had picked him up off the Sicilian streets about six months ago, had told him recently that his name had once been Cristiano. Paolo had eagerly asked if he could change his name too, and Dionisio had agreed. He is Paolo’s papa now, they had filled out stupid amounts of paperwork to make it possible. Paolo is still kind of nervous about the whole business, but Dionisio is kind, and an amazing cook. He’s also going to teach Paolo how to use the powers he already uses to talk to dead people properly. If he wants to, when he’s older, Dionisio says he can be the Cancer Saint, like he is. Paolo isn’t sure about that part yet, but he likes learning how to fight for real.

Dionisio isn’t here right now, off getting groceries for their guests. He’d told Paolo he could come too, but he hadn’t wanted to. Maybe he should have, though, because now he’s bored.

So bored.

That’s weird and new too. He’s  _bored._  He’s not worried about finding money or food, or a relatively warm and/or dry place to spend the night. He’s not worried about whether or not he can outrun some of the older kids who like beating him up and calling him names (scrawny devil’s rat is a particular favorite of theirs). He’s not even worried about whether or not old man Carlo is nearby, with his penchant for kids. Ugh, why’d he think of that creep? Paolo shivers, rubbing vigorously at his arms.

A name… He rubs an idle hand against his collarbone, where pink handwriting spells out words that had only just became actually readable. They’re sweet and comforting. Someone out there doesn’t think he looks like a rat, or is cursed by the devil.

Huh. The devil. A smirk curls his thin lips. That would be hilarious, but also kind of get back at everyone.

Lucifer is kind of a stupid name, and that would shorten to Lucy, so he tries to remember the names of other demons. Mother had had a book of them, and he taught himself how to read using that and her battered bible.

Abbadon, Astaroth, Beelzebub, Flauros, Forneus, Legion, Leviathan, Malphas, Mephistopheles…

Hm. Mephistopheles sounded nice. Kind of long, though. Maybe if he chopped a bit off? Mephisto. That sounded just about right.

“I’m home! And I brought our guests!” He scrambled back out to the living room, grinning at Dionisio, and curiously observing the newcomers. “This is Aurelien and Aphrodite, Pao-”

"Mephisto,” he interrupted. Dionisio blinked, nodded, and carried on.

"Mephisto. Aphrodite is about your age, and Aurelien sponsored and mentored me. He was like a father to me,” Dionisio smiles at the old man, hair more gray now than black, and wrinkly like a raisin. Mephisto is more interested in the tiny blond child attached to his leg, face hidden in a weird stuffed animal. He’s never seen anything like it. Is it supposed to be a hippo? Aurelien nudges the other kid forward, and he approaches, hesitantly.

"You’re really pretty. You look like a rose,” Aphrodite says softly, words heavily accented. Mephisto’s chest feels warm and buzzy, and he grins widely.

"You’re the sweetest person I ever met,” he declares brightly, and tackles the blond over in a hug. They topple to the ground, and Dionisio is laughing and Aurelien is cooing, and Aphrodite squeaks is surprised distress, but Mephisto doesn’t want to let go. “What is this thing, though? A hippo?” he asks, poking the stuffed animal. Aphrodite makes a tiny indignant noise.

“He’s Moomin, stupid,” Aphrodite says, pouting.

“‘M not stupid! I just never seen one before.” He objects as they sit up. Aphrodite bites his lip and does something weird, scrunching his face up in concentration. Suddenly there’s a bright red rose in his hand, and he offers it to Mephisto.

“Sorry I called you stupid.” He says, offering him the flower. Mephisto takes it a little dubiously, because wasn’t giving flowers for girls and adults? But it’s pretty, and Aphrodite looks hopeful, and it’s like the same color as Mephisto’s eyes. He takes it.

"‘Sokay. Don’t do it again, yeah?” He says, and they smile at each other.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
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>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
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>   * Comments not in English
> 

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